


Tokyo

by mechafly



Category: All Elite Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 03:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechafly/pseuds/mechafly
Summary: Quiet moments together add up to a decade's familiarity.





	Tokyo

Tokyo is like any other city to Kenny now. He barely remembers the young man he once was. The bright lights and tall buildings which so fascinating him on arrival - like something from a distant future - now seem staid and ordinary. He doesn't even look up at them through the taxi window. A series of messages pop up on his phone, the group chat in the middle of a brainstorming session. He ignores it, for the moment, in favour of closing his eyes for a second. The lights speed across the window pane.

Kota calls him. Kenny stares at the screen for a moment before picking up. He responds, affectionately. He looks out at the passing rush of roads and can see, out of the corner of his eye, the taxi driver hanging on to every word he says while keeping a scrupulously straight expression.

"Yes, I'll be there in an hour."

"Yeah, I'll be late. The flight got cancelled out of Orlando, I had to get a connecting flight."

"I know."

"Thanks."

"I loved it, Ibu-tan, you know I did." Kenny pauses. "There's so much I want to talk about."

"Alright. Goodbye. I love you."

He feels restless, uncertain, unsure where this nervous energy is coming from. The weight of Tokyo rests heavy on him. He adjusts his uncomfortable shirt collar and looks back out of the window.

*

It's always a delight to see Kota, but he's particularly mysterious tonight.

For some reason, not having seen Kota for a while, Kenny always feels that they've become distanced from each other somehow. Separated. Their ability to connect gone. He's always worried Kota will no longer understand him; that he'll no longer understand Kota. It's with trepidation that he takes the barstool next to Kota. The bar, with its bamboo exteriors and steel accents, suddenly seems unbearably formal.

Kota's nursing a copper-coloured drink, neat. His face is a blank canvas. He is, confusingly, in a neat suit, mirroring Kenny's own. They look for all the world like two men meeting for business. Kenny watches the prim bartender wiping down glasses.

The lights are all low, in the trendy style. Kota's done something to his hair, which is now blacker than oil.

When Kota finally makes eye contact with Kenny, he gives him that very familiar smirk that is half threat and half invitation.

Kota drains his whiskey and stands. "It's good that you're here," he says, with relish.

On an impulse, Kenny reaches out and touches Kota's arm. There's no one here after all, in the anonymity of expensive, empty hotel bars. The fabric of Kota's suit is slippery as silk.

He's not expecting Kota to kiss him, but that's what Kota does, checking his eyes with that careful, serious expression before pressing a brief kiss to his lips. Kenny feels his face heat, from the casual intimacy of it, and the way in which Kota is staring at him. Carefully, as if checking for injuries.

"You were gone a long time." They are alone in the elevator, which is glass and mirrors, so he can see Kota's elegantly formed face from every angle. His expression is carefully neutral, beautiful and still.

"Busy," Kenny says. He can see the precise line of the back of Kota's neck as Kota adjusts his cufflinks, expelling nervous energy. Kota peeks at him from under his shiny, new hair, an invitation for more. Kenny talks about the ventures of the new business. Only the stories and the anecdotes which will interest Kota, skipping the figures and facts which will bore him.

Kota has learned to be more polite over the years. In decades past, he would never have thought to ask Kenny what he's working on, but that's what he does now. Kenny is caught up in an explanation of the Japanese recruits they're trying to get, which isn't going so well at the moment because none of the talents want to be seen to be disloyal to the companies that gave them their start. It's a tricky situation. Kota cocks his head, listening attentively. "Yes, I heard something about that."

Kenny looks at him carefully. In the momentary pause, he realises he's been talking and talking, and that Kota has been quietly listening. He clears his throat. "Yeah? Anything positive?"

Kota shrugs. He follows Kenny into the penthouse suite and smiles. "Oh, good and bad. As with many things. But you have many friends here."

Kenny reaches out and draws him close.

*

It's morning; early. Kenny's already received a barrage of texts and emails from the American business hours which took place over the intervening Japanese night: he's wide awake. He scrolls through emails, sitting up in bed. Kota is still lying with his face buried in a pillow. The curve of his neck is as elegant as ever. Kenny strokes it absent-mindedly. Kota's skin is cool. His hair is soft, when Kenny goes to run a hand through it. Kota twitches awake under his hand. He peers up at Kenny from under his arm, one eye visible. "What time is it?"

It's only six in the morning. Kota groans softly and rolls out of his immediate reach, falls back asleep. His arms and legs are akimbo, ass sticking out. Kenny smiles.

*

"I'm sad that I have to leave you now." Kenny is fiddling with his tie in the expanse of the hotel mirror, tying it, untying it, looking at his strange and unsure reflection stuffed into a suit that he's sure Kota would criticise if he was paying attention. But Kota is lying on top of the covers, naked, arms stretched over his head, the picture of calm. Kenny leaves for Narita airport in ten minutes. The taxi's already idling outside.

"I'm sad too," Kota says, though his face is at ease. Kenny knows that Kota thrives on this kind of connection, fleeting and swift, and that it's the basis of their entire decades-long long-distance relationship together. It's an easiness that isn't quite romantic love, but isn't merely friendship either. It's intimacy without commitment. It's familiarity and formality. It's sitting alone with someone else in companionable silence, each with your own thoughts.

Kenny takes another look at himself and gives up with the tie. He kisses the top of Kota's head in passing and Kota doesn't open his eyes, though his full mouth quirks. Kenny closes the door behind him, leaving Kota in peace.

There's no word for what it is they have, except a kind of friendship that works both ways.

And peace.

That's something they can bring each other. Peace.

* 


End file.
